Come AlongA Poem by ConstanceHow does one control a mountain, a valley, a river, or an ocean? I am navigating a vivid landscape filled with hills and vales,ridges and streams, soft spots and hard rock walls that must be scaled before solace is found... All within the complex biosphere of my own emotions and longings.
I see a light in the distance, a beautiful meadow, but I stand in the desert On the other side of a towering range of wicked slopes jutting to the sky Precariously, I lean out over this blank dusty plateau on which I stand Scanning the hopeful and ever nearer horizon, fearing that before I reach it I will perish from the thirst for belonging and love, passion and promise.
My hand trembles at my eyes, attempting to block out the glare above And my feet dig into the dry earth, stabilizing... I am perched for change Eager to take the journey toward a place I can call home... no matter how far. I seek to take you with me, into that beautiful green world within my soul I would not ask that you follow, but that you stand at my side, hold my hand.
Kiss me, and I'll take you there, wrap your arms around me, and we will soar And should you fall, I will catch you up into the finely feathered wings... The wings you gave to me by doing nothing more than being you, and with me I can go there without you, I can go there alone, given time... but I'd rather Run away with you to the place where we don't have to hide what we feel
The landscape of my emotions, it can become flooded or it can be saved You do not hold that power, but I have more will to control it when you Are standing watch, not far away, ready to step in and comfort me And you cause little earthquakes, spasms of passion and resolve But they do not waste the earth at my feet, rather open up a cavern A lighted, clean, easily trodden path that is set before us... so come along?
© 2008 ConstanceFeatured Review
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Added on September 19, 2008AuthorConstanceA Small Town in, KSAboutI write about my past, my own real experiences. Even my poetry is inspired by my life. I was, I suppose, born writing, making up stories and rhymes from about when I started to speak, but had to wait .. more..Writing
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